Scotlander, page 13
Awwww.
He’d been kidding.
She felt the tight knot in her chest give a little.
‘Talk to him,’ Finlay said. ‘You’ll feel better. I promise.’ He spoke with conviction. As if he completely believed in her ability to face this situation head on even if she didn’t.
‘But—’
‘Talk to him.’ He gently swept his work-worn hands along her shoulders down to her elbows and then, with an encouraging nod, turned her round.
She looked at Gabe, who was now standing apart from Lachlan, but still holding hands and still very much in his thrall.
He looked so beautiful. So perfect. And, for the first time since she’d met him, she felt as if she was finally seeing the real Gabriel Martinez.
She’d deeply wanted to believe that Valentina had set this whole elaborate adventure up so that, even though she was gone, Willa would always have a link to her through Gabe. But that had never been the plan. And with that realisation Willa felt a raw, savage pain rip through her as the tenuous link to Val was torn away.
She must’ve cried out, because Gabe turned in alarm.
‘Willa.’ He scrubbed his hands through his inky mop. ‘Dios, I’m so sorry. I shouldn’t have— I need to— This is—’ He held out his hand towards Lachlan and choked back a sob.
‘I’m Lachlan.’ Sexy Hipster Beardy Man stepped forward to shake Willa’s hand. His hands, like Gabe’s, were soft and supple city-man hands, but not without an undercurrent of strength. His aura was warm and open. Compassionate. As if he was filled with nothing but peace, vegan sausages and organic, virgin-harvested sage smoke.
He cupped her hand in both of his and just held it, gazing at her with a soft smile on his face, until he kind of blurred. The hot tears of embarrassment she’d been trying to keep at bay had finally begun to streak down her cheeks, plopping quite unceremoniously on to her boobs.
Fucking boobs!
She tugged her hand out of Lachlan’s and pulled Finn’s coat closer round her. Her gaze shifted to Gabe, hoping for some sort of explanation, but he said nothing.
‘I’m Finn.’ Finlay stood close behind her, as if sensing she needed the support, and stretched his hand out towards Lachlan.
She glanced up at him and smiled, grateful for the awkward-silence intervention and, curiously, for the physical reassurance of his presence.
Gabe nodded at Finn, then shifted his gaze back to Willa. ‘Maybe we should talk alone?’
‘Finn’s about to be my husband,’ she said slightly too defensively. ‘We do everything together.’
She felt Finn’s eyes land on her but wasn’t going to risk catching the horror undoubtedly flaring in them. Two rounds of rejection today just might finish her.
‘Okay. Good. Umm . . .’ Gabe began, then faltered, scrubbing a hand across his face.
It was weird seeing him so unsettled. So . . . human.
A line from Val’s final wishes came to her. Sometimes you have to step outside of yourself to become the person you want to be.
What wasn’t mentioned, was that the process of shedding one skin would, in turn, expose a fresh, unweathered one. Soft and vulnerable in a world full of jagged edges.
‘I’m guessing you and Lachlan are previously acquainted?’ Willa prompted.
‘Yes.’ Gabe’s eyes flooded with emotion. ‘We, uhhh . . . Lachlan and I—’
‘We met a long time ago,’ Lachlan said, stepping back and sliding his arm around Gabe’s shoulders in such a comfortable move it was as if he’d been doing it for years.
‘How?’ Willa asked.
‘He was an exchange student,’ Gabe said to Lachlan, whose eyes he couldn’t seem to stop staring into. With a hand pressed to Lachlan’s heart, he turned to Willa and, between them, they told her everything.
Lachlan was from Edinburgh. He’d always known he was gay and came from a family who had been incredibly supportive of him and his sexuality. When he’d been placed at Gabe’s high school in Texas, his family had questioned whether or not he’d feel safe, but he’d said he didn’t want to be frightened being who he was. And when he’d gone to his first class, the two had met and fallen instantly and completely in love. Their romance was strong, but they kept it out of the public eye. Everything had gone well until Gabe’s father had found out. He’d been horrified and refused to believe he had a gay son. Things came to a head at Valentina’s fifteenth birthday. The family was throwing a huge party. All the siblings were bringing their partners. Gabe wanted to bring Lachlan, who was days away from returning to Scotland. His father refused. Gabe gave him an ultimatum, accept us both, or he would walk away.
‘I suppose you can figure out the rest,’ he said with another scrub of his perfect jawline.
Yeah. She could. He ran away, made an incredible success of himself by helping people out who’d needed guidance after a fall from grace.
‘Did you go with him?’ she asked Lachlan.
He shook his head. ‘To my shame, no. I returned home. But he’s always lived here.’ Lachlan placed his hand over Gabe’s, which was still resting on his heart. ‘And now, thanks to his sister, he’s actually here. Two whole weeks to catch up.’ Unexpectedly, he laughed. ‘Who knows? We might not even like each other any more, but . . .’
In tandem the pair said, ‘First impressions speak volumes.’
If ever there was a moment to throw up in her mouth a little, this was it. But, despite the blow to her ego, she could see that these two had needed to meet again, even if to close a door on a chapter written long ago.
‘Did you . . .’ she began tentatively, and then, in a rush asked, ‘Did Valentina tell you this was going to happen?’
‘Not specifically.’
‘So . . . you read her letter.’
Gabe nodded.
She was desperate to ask him what was in it, but the distinctive screech of bagpipes cut through the air before she could.
She threw Finn a questioning look.
‘That’ll be our cue to head to the altar,’ he said.
She looked over at Gabe and Lachlan only to find them caught in a dreamy-eyed staring contest.
Feeling desperately awkward in the glow of such intimacy, she cleared her throat, hooked her arm in Finn’s and said, ‘I guess we’d best get down to the stables and get ourselves hitched.’
Chapter Fifteen
As Shona and her bagpipes squawked out wedding marches with an almost imperceptible hint of Rihanna to them, the group gathered together inside the stone remains of the old chapel just beyond the stables. Finn took advantage of the fact it was too loud to talk and tried to gather his thoughts about Willa. Yes, they’d got off to a false start. She’d struck him as a flibbertigibbet. An ineffectual, too-woke-for-her-own-good, butter-wouldn’t-melt, city slicker. A beautiful one. But someone he’d definitely swipe left if dating was on his agenda. Which it most definitely was not, especially with things at Balcraigie reaching boiling point. But now that he’d had a few glimpses at the real Willa, she was a welcome distraction from the avalanche of problems hanging above him.
Whatever she’d thought this holiday was going to be, finding out her boyfriend was gay obviously hadn’t been on the agenda. Not that openly declaring her intent to fake marry a man who put her teeth on edge was the solution, but something beyond pity had compelled him to go along with it. There was more to her charged, emotional reaction to Gabe’s news than met the eye and if working at the agricultural college with teenagers had taught him anything, he knew that waters didn’t always have to be still to run deep. Even so, it was going to be a long couple of weeks.
As Orla directed everyone to their places, Willa leant in. ‘This is completely surreal, right?’
‘Och, away.’ Finn swiped at the air. ‘We’re always doing this sort of thing up here in the Highlands. Perfectly normal.’
She snorted. ‘Am I the only one to get a groom with six fingers?’
Finn shot her a look. ‘You may laugh now, lass, but you’ll soon find you’ve got the best of a questionable bunch of ruffians.’ He broadened his brogue for effect. ‘And be warned, I’ll no have my bride keeking about for an alternative.’
She crooked her finger and jigged it a few times. ‘Translation, please.’
‘Keeking?’ He turned his hands into a telescope. ‘Looking. Snuffling about for someone who isn’t me.’
‘How very Cro-Magnon of you.’
He was about say something to ensure she knew that he knew they were both doing this under duress, but Willa suddenly stood stock still. He turned and saw Gabe and Lachlan appear in the chapel doorway hand in hand.
The smile dropped from her face.
Before he could ask if she was absolutely certain she wanted to go ahead, a friend of Orla’s from the Balcraigie Players, clearly playing the role of minister, stepped into place with a dramatic, ‘My flock! My ken. My dearly beloved. Who will be the first lucky couple to be joined as one for the rest of their living days? Or, in this case . . . two beautiful weeks in one of Scotland’s finest estates?’
Orla pointed at Finn and Willa. They both recoiled in horror. Finn fought the urge to tell Orla he’d been right, this entire scheme was doomed, then remembered what was at stake and forced on a smile.
He led Willa up to the small pallet stage in front of the straw-bale altar, decked out with fistfuls of late season heather and thistles.
Orla’s am-dram pal raised his hands to the heavens and cried, ‘Are ye prepared to witness two hearts bound together as one?’
The group let out cheers and a couple of whoops. One of the lads from the farm shouted out, ‘Get in there, Jamieson,’ to which Finn shot back, ‘That’s my future wife you’re talking about, mate. I’ll have you showing her respect and nothing less.’
‘Right you are, Finn. Now quit your faffing and get on with it!’
‘Aye. That’s what we’re here for, that’s what we’ll do.’
His nerves knotted in his chest as the am-dram minister began unveiling a rather impressive Scottish-tinted Princess Bride impersonation, bleating on about harmony and bliss and obedience.
He had to admit, even though this entire thing was for show – a fiction – there was something about standing beneath a wedding bough in the remains of the old chapel with Willa’s hands in his that gave him goosebumps. The sun made a rare appearance and filtered through the traditionally decorated tree branch dappling diamond-like speckles of sunlight throughout Willa’s dark hair. Her espresso dark eyes were bright and her expression was a combination of nerves and something unexpected. Hope.
Struth. He hoped she was faking it.
He’d heard the other women in the group talking earlier this morning about how much they were looking forward to wedded life with a rugged, kilted Highland male. Not one of them mentioned hoping to work from dawn to dusk with a sweaty, smelly contractor. Nor had they expressed a desire to physically labour until their bones ached, falling into bed the minute after they’d shovelled down their tea, only to get up a handful of hours later and do it all over again.
Such was the life of a true Highlander.
These poor folk were in for a bit of a shock.
Or . . . said a quiet voice in his head, maybe they’re here for all the right reasons. Perhaps they will enjoy it.
The thought caught him off guard.
Perhaps, continued the quiet voice, this was precisely the immersive experience he needed. A last-ditch chance to throw himself into life at Balcraigie and figure out what it was he did – or more likely didn’t – want from the place. To sell or not to sell. That was the question.
Ranald, their pretend minister, took interwoven strands of green and purple cord and held them up for the ‘congregation’ to see. ‘As I tie this knot, so too will your lives be bound!’
Finn’s pulse accelerated. Stupid, considering he knew it was all fake, but Willa must’ve been feeling it too because her hands began to shake.
He ducked his head, trying to catch her gaze. They really didn’t have to do this if she didn’t want to. She shot him a look that said, Please fuck off with your sympathy looks.
He shot one back that said, Fine. Happy wife, happy life.
She grinned at him, clearly pleased that she’d ‘won’ that round.
Oblivious, Ranald took hold of his right hand, then Willa’s left, and pressed them together. He asked them to hold their wrists just so, then began a rather impressive swirling motion that swiftly became several rounds of soft cord fastening their wrists together.
‘This cord,’ continued Ranald in his sonorous voice, ‘holds not only the man-made fibres you see before you, but the fibres of hope and love. The fibres of promise for your new life together that these people, your friends and family, have brought here today, giving their gifts openly as they witness this, the joining of your two lives in marriage.’
Finn heard one of the women sniff and the tugging of tissues from a packet.
Willa glanced up at him, her lips pressed together as if she was stifling a giggle. They shared a look that, stupidly, made him feel closer to her. As if they were sharing a secret no one else knew.
‘This cord now binds you to one another.’ Ranald tied a single knot in the rope. ‘Thus bound . . . may the knot remain untroubled for as long as your love shall last.’
Willa’s hands were properly shaking now. She wasn’t falling under the cosplay spell, was she?
‘May it be granted,’ Ranald crowed, ‘that what’s done in the presence of the heavens, may not be undone by man.’
Willa gave a nervous laugh. ‘Sounds ominous.’
‘Hold tight to one another,’ Ranald shouted in response, ‘in good times and in bad . . . and watch,’ he lowered his voice for effect, ‘as the thistle endures the seasons, so too will your love strengthen and grow.’
‘Got it,’ said Willa, her tone on a par with the spinning finger indicating it was time to move past the flowery stuff and skip to the end.
‘Is this the kiss-the-bride part?’ Finn asked when Ranald just stood there, staring at them.
Ranald’s face lit up as if Finn had just reminded him of his forgotten cue. ‘Indeed it is.’
He’d been kidding, but . . . oh god. Dilemma time. Should he actually kiss her?
Maybe a peck on the cheek would do.
Willa eyes shot to his lips.
Christ on a bike. Was he actually meant to kiss her? She was still stinging from a very public rejection. He didn’t know the ins and outs of it, but he knew hurt when he saw it and he didn’t want to add to her pain.
‘Blood of thy blood, bone of thy bone.’ Ranald shot a meaningful glance at Finn. ‘You may now kiss the bride.’
Chapter Sixteen
‘Why do they call this a wedding breakfast when it’s actually a wedding lunch?’
‘Is it traditional to have sausage rolls?’
‘It is if you’re taking it as a wink and a nudge for what’s going to happen later, lassie!’
‘Trevor! You big hunk of spunk! I thought this was strictly “look don’t touch”.’
‘What’s brown sauce? Is it like barbecue sauce?’
Willa half-listened as the new couples excitedly exchanged questions and answers, proposing toast after toast even though their pewter flagons were charged with tea or instant coffee. ChiChi was giggling like a madwoman as her new husband crooked his arm into a strongman flex, then asked her to hang from it. Which she did. Jules and her new wife were dissecting the wedding bough and having a very deep discussion about one of the plants which had bright red, fairy-tale coloured berries on it.
Jennifer was pawing through her wicker arm basket and unearthing a needle and thread, insisting her strapping young husband take off his jacket so she could stitch on a button that had gone flying when he’d scooped her up in his arms and carried her out of the chapel after they’d been pronounced man and wife.
Jeff and Rosa were staring dreamily into one another’s eyes, as were Gabe and Lachlan. If you could catch diabetes from watching couples so sweet on one another they practically oozed sugar, now was her chance.
But Willa was too busy figuring out how to solve a teensy tiny problem.
Her lips were trapped back in time. About forty minutes ago, if anyone wanted to know when the clock stopped. She couldn’t stop touching them, as if needing constant affirmation that they were still there.
The moment may have only been the blink of an eye. Possibly longer. She had no idea. All she knew was that from the moment Finn’s lips had touched hers, she had been completely and utterly transported.
It was, hands down, the best kiss she’d ever experienced. So perfect, it had felt preordained. As if Finlay Jamieson had been put here on this earth, on this farm, in that kilt, for the express purpose of cupping her face in those incredible hands of his and showing her what a real kiss was meant to feel like.
From the moment their lips had touched, she’d known nothing and everything all at once. Fireworks, possession, protection and heat. Actual washes of the stuff, pouring like sexy lava through her nervous system. And they hadn’t even tongued each other.
She’d genuinely thought she was levitating by the end of it.
‘Here you are, lass.’ A steaming mug of tea appeared before her. She followed the arm holding it out to her, up and along the increasingly familiar shoulder line, then up to her new fake husband’s face. ‘Get that down your gob.’ He nodded at the mug. ‘You’ll need your strength for the day ahead.’
And just like that her picture-perfect Cinderella balloon popped.
‘Is everything okay?’ she asked, taking the tea. It was strong and milky and sweet all at once. The kind of thing you’d give someone after they’d had a shock.
‘Aye. Fine.’
He didn’t look fine.
He was scanning all the happy, giggling guests with an expression that suggested it was just as well they were enjoying themselves now because they wouldn’t be for much longer.
Before she could ask him what was going on, the dinner bell in the stable yard rang. Finn beckoned for her to follow him to the yard. ‘You’ll have to change,’ he said. ‘Make sure you put proper work boots on. And wool socks.’
